


Until I'm Numb

by HugsNotDrugs



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Hebephilia, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Not a Love Story, Sad Ending, Trauma, Unrequited Love, but it's dark like 2 am, if that makes you uncomfortable, im also like? really into first person POV, like maybe it'll seem light at first, seriously this is just angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 04:51:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15163055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HugsNotDrugs/pseuds/HugsNotDrugs
Summary: I don’t remember when I began to want my grandson in a sordid way, but I remember the day I became aware of it.





	Until I'm Numb

**Author's Note:**

> **not explicit, per se, but strong as fuck themes: rape, advances on a minor, suicide** mind the tags.
> 
> and of course, my gay little heart suffering through 8th grade. the wound's still fresh x'DD
> 
> pulled an all-nighter for this bad boy, it's 5:23 am
> 
> anyway, stay safe, and to the rest, hope you like this lil heartbroken vomit
> 
> song of the day, of which this one started as: blackbear- if i could i would feel nothing

I don’t remember when I began to want my grandson in a sordid way, but I remember the day I became aware of it.

We were on an adventure, me on too much alcohol and admittedly in no fit state for an adventure as dangerous as that one. We faced off against an alien species that spat acidic missiles that would instantaneously engulf whatever material they came into contact with. I was ensnared between a gang of five who were sorely pissed off that I had stolen their king’s royal jewels to breed my own when Morty, a few meters from me, was hit squarely in the back with a glop of acid. 

“Rick!”

His shrill scream sent me into overdrive, cold fear gripping my throat as I shot a portal beneath his feet and lunged towards his falling form, shooting blindly at the aliens behind us.

We landed back in the garage with two distinct, loud crashes. I darted a quick glance at him to make sure he hadn’t snapped his neck or anything. He stumbled to my cot in the corner and fell onto it, hyperventilating as tears welled up in his green eyes.

“Morty! Get your shirt off!” I yelled into my lab coat, from which I pulled a first-aid kit from a pocket dimension. 

“H-h-h-ohhhh jeez, Rick! It burnnnss!!!” I could hear his painful sobs as he attempts at tearing off bits of the fabric which had surely melted into his skin. Each cry made me flinch and the hair on the back of my neck raise.

“Shut up you little pussy! Just do as I say!” My voice broke and I disguised it hastily with a cough. I opened the kit with a push of the red button on the front and took out a hand-crafted healing cream, good enough for severe acid burns, thanking my genius self from two years ago. I rarely had cause to use it, so the tube was still mostly full and my temples prickled guiltily as I squirted a giant dollop of the clear salve into my palm, spreading it over both evenly. Why, oh why did I put him in danger when I was drunk?

“Turn around, Morty, give me your back.” I kneeled on my good knee in front of the cot so that I could be eye-level with his back.

He turned, whimpering slightly at the movement and my stomach flipped at the wound on his back. It was festering at the edges and big, fat blisters oozed in the patch in the middle, steaming slightly. 

“I’m a little- I’m a little drunk, just be prepared if I jab something.” I warned him, trying to steady my hands.

I began by rubbing the salve into the outer edges and minor burns from splashes, fingers exerting gentle pressure at first, then firmer for the salve to be absorbed. His back rose and fell rapidly. He hissed as I began working on the major burn, fingers rubbing small circles at the edges.

“There- shhhh- who’s my good, brave, boy? Be calm, grandpa’s here.” I tried to smooth out my unpleasant voice into something vaguely comforting, if only to get him to stop moving jerkily.

He nodded shakily, sweat and tears dripping down his chin, big eyes red-rimmed and rosy pink lips quivering, absolutely wrecked.

Which he was because in my negligence, he had been hit with a glob of fucking acid.

As the burn got smaller in size, I layered more salve onto the blisters, not directly touching them with my hands but just letting the cream settle over the bulbs of water until they slowly receded too.

“Straighten your back.” I murmured, proceeding to massage the balm into his muscles, rubbing the tension- the wound- away. After a few minutes, all traces of the burn was gone, yet I continued to rub at his back, now wandering to other sections that weren’t harmed.

“Rick, I think it’s good now.” He said, trying to look over his shoulders.

“Yeah I’m just- uhh fixing up a few small ones. Gotta rub it alll in for it to work.” I said easily as my fingers roamed over perfectly smooth milky skin below his shoulder blades, at his sacrum, dipping under- I ripped my hands away from his thin body, dirtying my white coat (more) by wiping the appendages messily on it.

“‘S good, Morty. I’ll get you another ugly T-shirt but don’t put it on until the cream’s been totally absorbed. Stay here.”

I left the garage and closed the door behind me, falling against it to clear my head. I tried to calm my breathing as the vision of him presenting his back to me, his _face_ , little whimpers and moans as I kneaded his muscles that sounded so wrong out of context but were the damn hottest things I had ever heard. If I was any more drunk I would have undressed him and taken him right there and God. I’m so fucked up. I pressed a trembling hand to my forehead only to pull it away in disgust due to the residue cream still on it.

Right. Yes. A shirt.

I smoothed my hands down my coat and climbed the stairs to his room, knees squeaking slightly and I made a mental note to make them self-lubricating at some point. I opened the door and looked inside. It was quieter than usual, when I barged in to drag him off on an adventure, of which he so willingly bended to. Pliable. Soft. Bent over my work desk moaning- It was a sort of understated pleasure to be able to see his room like this, dorkish alien posters hung up on his wall- plus one of a busty model- and possessions strewn hazardously about in teenager-like fashion. It was all so distinctly… Morty.

My eyes found his closet and I walked over to it, hands running through about five different yellow t-shirts, a mustard jumper, and a barely-worn suit, for that disaster of a dance he went to. It was the devil who whispered to me when I picked the largest yellow t-shirt, one that would slip ever-so-casually over a small boy’s shoulder blade. I traveled back down the stairs and into the garage.

“Here Morty, you lil shit.” I threw the shirt at his head needlessly quickly, making my way over to my work desk, pretending I needed to fiddle with something.

“T-thanks. This one’s kind of- it’s a little big on me, Rick.” His voice came through the neck opening of the shirt as he adorably tangled himself up in the maze of fabric inside, showing me a little glimpse of his flat stomach.

I gulped as his face finally emerged from the shirt, cheeks glowing pink, eyes glowing green, caramel curls mussed to Hell from our escapade and his one-sided tussle with the garment. He looked so sweet. He _smelled_ so sweet, as my nose caught a whiff of his scent, mixed with a bit of the salve still and I leaned subtly forwards to inhale more of it.

And then, the little idiot he was, ran one small thin hand from his shoulder to his neck, scratching slightly at the hairs of his nape, drawing attention to his unblemished skin, delicate curve of his collarbone, and a neck, so soft and vulnerable, that could bloom into shades of red and purple at the slight suggestion of teeth.

My head pounded and I felt my erection swelling to press insistently at my zipper. I turned around swiftly in my swivel chair to grip at miscellaneous tools on the work surface. Anything to not look at him and his perfect everything.

“Get out, Morty. Don’t call me for dinner.” I nearly growled it, my vocal cords unable to function normally and I prayed he wouldn’t hear the edge of arousal in it.

“Okay, Rick.” He left and I watched him go, his back now healed and covered by his yellow t-shirt.

\-------------------------------

It wasn’t long before I was being eaten at from within, and masturbating furiously to thoughts of my grandson’s luscious body pressed beneath me did not quench the slow, torturous fire that charred the edges of my sanity.

Morality.

I had handed my entire heart to a single person who did not see me as anything more than his neurotic, alcoholic grandfather and it broke everything within me until I was left a quivering, trembling mess barely-seated in front of an alien bartender, clutching onto a bottle of extraterrestrial vodka like a lifeline.

Drunk-me was, in a way, smarter than sober-me. Drunk-me gets what he wants, or at least makes it up in his head. Perhaps that was how I turned into an addict, a little bit of perceived success and feel-good to trade for rules and reality until it just became the most natural way to cope. So, I found myself standing shakily at the foot of his bed on one of many heartbroken nights with the company of spirits or some other, looking at the way his shoulders rose and fell peacefully when I didn’t rip him from his rest. 

I reached out a hand tentatively to pull at his white underpants, for he rarely slept in anything more than that, and revealed the soft globes of his ass and a virgin hole, illuminated by moonlight.

My arousal unfurled in my belly looking at his Venusian behind, only meant to be exposed to a lover yet unknowingly displayed to me, his blood-related grandfather, fifty years his senior.

I took what was mine and left behind gifts of tears and terror, restrained in the silent night.

I did not erase his memories and clean up after myself. I did not want him to forget any of me, do you understand? I could not voluntarily separate myself from him. To do so would have been to kill a part of me. It was in the mornings when he would avoid my gaze at breakfast, catch me in the corner of his eye when he came back from school and scuttled away, that I felt my heart, rebirthed the night before, shredded into pieces again and again.

He still did not lock his door at night. I told myself it was because he knew I had a skeleton key. Or a nifty portal.

\-------------------------------

_How many more times_

_Until I’m numb to this_

_To your tears, to your pain?_

And then I was crying useless tears into his face too, polluting his, which ran in rivulets with snot down his lips and the corners of his eyes. It was supposed to get easier over time, to care less about him and more about the physical, primal pleasure that no one else could give me.

I thrust harder.

One blue night I came into his room and he was waiting for me sitting at the edge of his bed, posture hunched but only as it normally was. He was not huddled up under five layers of blanket, trying to look small. Tonight was different.

I sat down tentatively next to him and my mouth parted to let out a silent gasp of surprise as he mounted me of his own accord, settling into my lap with his legs straddled on each side of my waist.

My brow wrinkled in a silent question of confusion, my arm coming up to his waist almost as if to stop him.

He just rocked against me, taking me instead of me taking him, and his green eyes were empty. I cupped his cheek in one hand, thumb swiping at the skin under his eyes, which were ruthlessly dry. He continued rutting into my lap, completely flaccid through his white boxers.

_I have broken you._

_I have lost you._

I picked his thin frame up easily from my lap and put him gently beside me onto the mattress, like a porcelain doll from an antique shop. His eyes looked at me with confusion at my stopping and I felt as though I had been stabbed through the heart. It was worse than any other pain I had felt thus far, even the pain of yearning for someone unattainable, lying awake on sleepless, torturous nights.

I fled his room.

No, I did not. I left with purpose, the strongest sense of it I had felt in the past decade, to the basement where I finally grabbed the memory gun.

“‘M sorry, Morty.” I murmured as he was still sat in the same position I left him, looking listlessly into the distance. He turned his head to look at me and I pointed the memory gun at him. A holographic image of a condensed timeline of the past two years from his perspective- since we met and I cataloged him into my gun- glowed in the air. I sloppily cut out all of his memories related to me from the past month-and-a-half, when I had become a monster, with motions of my hand, flinching as my trembling fingers accidentally cut away the biology test he got an 80% on. It won’t matter, anyway. After I was finished, I shot him once in the arm with the tranquilizer and put him gently into bed, allowing myself one chaste kiss on his forehead before turning to leave.

I closed his bedroom door with a final, painful click.

 

The revolver was nice, if only because the head of it fit comfortably into my mouth. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, willing my shoulders to stop. Fucking. Shaking. My index finger tightened around the trigger and

\---

**Author's Note:**

> hahahaaaa i wrote this in one day be gentle
> 
> this is also giving me??? hardcore Run vibes?? from my very first fic here xDD it was garbage but y o the similarities tho
> 
> i love feedback!! thank you sm for reading <33 i'll update HYESaHMDD sooonish


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